Julianne nearly pinched herself. Her brother had barely acknowledged her career in fashion. A positive compliment from him was a shock.
“What I really want to know is what Will thinks about this whole mess with his former coach,” Stephen continued. “Has he said anything about it?”
Will hadn’t mentioned a problem with his coach, but then they’d hardly exchanged more than polite conversation these past few days. “What mess with his former coach?”
“It’s all over the sports media.”
Julianne rolled her eyes. She was more Project Runway and Chopped than ESPN, a fact her brother should know.
“It looks like he may be implicated in a bounty scheme where players are paid to hurt opposing players,” Stephen went on to say.
“Will? Or his coach?” Julianne asked.
Stephen took a long moment to answer. “Well, it could be both of them if the rumors are correct. Will is known for some pretty . . . aggressive play.”
Something within Stephen’s tone sent a chill down Julianne’s spine. The image of Will deliberately hurting someone else just didn’t fit. Sure, he was arrogant and bullheaded, but he was gentle with Owen and he’d been kind to her that night on Sea Island. Of course, did she really know the real Will Connelly? Could she trust him with her son?
Julianne quickly stood and folded up the blanket, shoving it and the forgotten sketch in the back of the stroller. “Well, Will must not be too worried about it. He hasn’t said a word about his coach or this scheme you’re talking about, and we talk about everything,” she lied. “I’ve got to go feed the baby now, Stephen. Thanks for the call.”
“Look, Julianne, things could get a little ugly. They’ll try to make him out to be a monster. If you need me, just call, okay?”
The more salacious her brother sounded, the more suspicious she got. She gave him a quick good-bye before hanging up. Clearly, he didn’t want his political career tainted by scandal brought on by his brother-in-law. He didn’t really care about the safety of his sister and his nephew. But Julianne wasn’t being fair. To Will, anyway. She’d never once felt threatened by him despite his strength and size. And she’d never seen him mistreat Owen. There had to be an explanation.
Julianne pushed the stroller toward the line of shops housed in refurbished warehouses lining the Cape Fear River. Clearly, she needed to talk to someone who’d know what was going on. She punched up Carly’s contact on her iPhone, but it went straight to voice mail. Not bothering to leave a message, she hung up and contemplated who else she could get information from. Annabeth? But Will’s mother was as aloof as her son, blending into the woodwork whenever she was in the house. Julianne still didn’t have a good read on her mother-in-law, and it seemed like the woman wanted to keep it that way.
The beat of a loud bass interrupted Julianne’s thoughts. She looked through the large picture window beside her and there stood Brody Janik, looking like he was posing for a deodorant ad inside the Ship’s Iron Gym. Brandi, the one-woman welcoming committee of Chances Inlet, was adoringly admiring his form as he hefted a dumbbell.
Brody was Will’s teammate, which meant they probably had some sort of locker room code about not snitching on the other, but if she kept her questions vague enough, she might be able to find out what exactly was going on and how it impacted Will. Believing it was worth a shot, she maneuvered the stroller into the lobby of the gym. The music was loud and Julianne worried it might wake Owen. She’d stay only a minute, she decided, pulling the blanket over his ears.
Being the wife of a celebrity had its perks. The college-aged kid at the desk let her in without having to produce proof of membership. He even asked if she’d need daycare for “the little guy.” Not without earplugs, she wanted to say. Instead, she shook her head and asked if he wouldn’t mind fetching Brody for her, gesturing to the sleeping baby in the stroller.
Brody was by her side instantly, wiping his concerned face with a towel. “Hey, what’s up?” He peeked at Owen, still asleep. “Do you need me to get Will?”
“Will’s here?”
Darn! Darn! Darn. Of course Will was here. He was a stickler for his routine and he always worked out this time of the morning. Suddenly, she felt ridiculous letting her brother’s comments get to her.
Will wasn’t a monster. He played an aggressive game, and sometimes people got hurt. Off the field, he was cool and composed. She only had to conjure up the picture of his big hand on Owen’s back this morning as the two slept to know Will was gentle and protective. That same hand had rubbed her back during Owen’s transfusion. Not to mention how he had comforted her during the storm that night of the wedding. She took a deep, calming breath. Her brother was being ridiculous; she and Owen were perfectly safe sharing a house with Will.
Brody cocked his head, his look quizzical. “Julianne?”
She had to think fast. Wistfully, she remembered the half-finished sketch in the stroller. Julianne wasn’t sure if she could finish the design, but she felt like the final image was just beyond her fingertips and she needed something to help her reach it.
“No, I don’t need Will. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind texting me the photo of your sister and her fiancé? I—I might have some ideas about a gown.”
“It’s okay, Julianne,” he said softly, his tone laced with empathy. “I have four older sisters. Two of them have kids. After each pregnancy, it took them a while to return to being . . . themselves again.” He put a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. “Don’t push yourself. My sister understands.”
She felt the tears threatening. Her emotions were in such a tangle this morning. Maybe he was right and this was some sort of postpartum depression. But if she was going to get back to being herself—Julianne Marchione, fashion designer to the rich and famous—she needed to finish this design.
Something about the compassion on Brody’s face made her admit her deep secret. “I haven’t been able to sketch much of anything for a while, but I started something this morning and I’d like to see if I can finish it. It might not even be something your sister wants, but . . .”
Brody grinned at her, his cover-boy smile lighting up his face. “Atta girl! I won’t say anything to Tricia unless you tell me to. You just take your time.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “What’s your number?”
Julianne gave it to him, and within seconds her phone beeped in response. The emotional roller coaster she was riding was on the upswing, because she felt more optimistic than she had in a long time. Until, of course, her husband’s voice boomed behind her.
“Are you crazy? Owen will go deaf in this place! What’s he doing in here?”
If Brody was all-American gorgeous, Will was pure Norse gladiator. Despite the fact that both men were nearly the same height, Will’s presence loomed larger in the room, more commanding. His hair stood up on end from where he’d run sweaty fingers through it during his workout, and his perspiration-soaked shirt stuck to this body, outlining his well-muscled chest. He was the picture of a virile, conquering male. One who was also angry.
Julianne felt something stir inside her, something other than fear. It was more like desire. And relief that her instincts were not wrong about Will. If he were all the things her brother said he was, he wouldn’t be hovering over his sleeping son, worried about his exposure to loud noise.
“Seriously, dude, that kid will be able to play in any stadium if he can withstand this kind of noise.” Brody’s voice was filled with awe as he glanced into the stroller.
Will answered him with his patented glare. A crowd had started to gather, and Julianne wanted to avoid another argument like the one they’d had in the kitchen the other day.
“There you are,” she said, improvising as she went. “I just came to see if you would be home for lunch today.”
The befuddled look on Will’s face was amusing. True to her word, she had
n’t cooked a thing for anyone but herself since arriving in town. Any leftovers had suspiciously disappeared during the night, but she let that go since it was his kitchen.
Julianne took a step closer, whispering through her pasted-on smile. “Be nice, I’m playing the dutiful wife here.” Slowly, so everyone could glimpse her shiny, fake wedding band, she reached up and ran a hand over his well-defined pectoral muscle. Will’s body went rigid beneath her touch, but his eyes were blazing. She sucked in a breath, drawing her trembling hand back and placing it on the handle of the stroller to steady herself.
“I’ll see you at home then,” she called out as she hurriedly pushed the stroller out of the gym, not risking a glance back at her husband.
Fifteen
“Oh my gosh! This place is cooler than I thought it would be!”
Annabeth looked up from the antique humidor she was repairing, startled to hear Sophie Osbourne’s voice in her shop.
“Sophie! I hadn’t heard from you so I thought you weren’t coming.” Annabeth hurriedly wiped the wood polish off her hands. Sophie hadn’t texted or e-mailed in several days, leaving Annabeth to think either the girl hadn’t been successful in bringing up her grade or she’d just lost interest. She’d hoped it was the latter, not wanting Hank to be right in his perception of his own daughter.
Annabeth had to catch her breath. Not only because Sophie had launched herself into her arms, but also from the sight of the girl’s father standing behind her. Dressed in khaki pants and a Blaze golf shirt, Hank looked more casual then she was used to. More handsome, too. His close-cropped sandy hair was gray at the temples and laugh lines fanned out from his smiling blue eyes, but his body language boasted of youth and vigor. He leaned a hip nonchalantly against one of the glass counters, crossing his arms over a well-muscled chest, a cat-ate-the-canary grin on his face.
“We thought we’d surprise you,” he said.
“Guess what?” Sophie stepped out of Annabeth’s arms and grabbed her hands. “I got a C-plus in physics!” She skipped gleefully in a circle, pulling Annabeth along with her.
“Oh, Soph, that’s wonderful!” Annabeth hugged her again. “I’m so proud of you.”
“And guess what else? Dad is taking me to California next week! Isn’t that great?”
Annabeth dared a look at Hank. “It’s better than great. It’s fabulous.”
“So I really don’t need the job, after all, I guess. I hope you weren’t saving it for me?”
Annabeth shook her head. Truthfully, she would have been paying Sophie out of her own pocket. The shop did okay, but not enough to support more than the one employee she already had. “As long as you keep sending me jewelry. You already will have quite a pocketful of spending money for your trip.”
Sophie’s face lit up. “Ohmigosh! It sold? Really? I brought more, but I didn’t think you would have sold any yet. It’s in my room at the inn. I’m in the Paisley room. It’s sooo cool! We’re staying here for a few days. Would it be okay if I hung out here with you while Dad plays golf? Ohmigosh, Dad, can I go get my box for Annabeth?”
She was out the door before either Annabeth or Hank could answer.
“I think you made her day.” Hank stepped away from the counter and began exploring the shop.
“I’m just so proud she did it.”
“Me, too. I’m giving her a trip to California as an apology for doubting her ability. What boon should I give you?”
She wasn’t sure what to say because she really wasn’t sure what he was asking. “Me? I don’t need anything. I didn’t do anything.”
Hank walked past her, studying the odds and ends lining the counters. He lifted a clock to examine it further. “I wouldn’t call fiercely defending a girl you barely know from her nitwit father nothing. Or encouraging her not only to go after her dream, but to put her nose to the grindstone. That wasn’t nothing. I told you this before: You have a kind heart, Miss Connelly. At least let me take you to dinner to make up for my error in judgment with my daughter.”
“I doubt you’ve ever made an error in judgment.”
“Oh, I’ve made a few.” He moved a step closer. “Have dinner with me, Annabeth.”
She wanted to say yes, but she knew it was a bad idea to get involved with Hank.
“No,” she forced out before she could change her mind.
Hank didn’t flinch. “Golf, then. I’m meeting Greg Norman at his course at Folly Beach. Come with me.”
Annabeth shook her head.
“Fine. Parasailing or a ferry ride to Bald Head. Pick one.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no.”
Hank reached over and fingered the bracelet she was wearing, one designed by his daughter. The warmth of his finger on her skin sent a shot of desire through her body.
“Are you afraid, Annabeth?” he asked softly. “Because you shouldn’t be.”
She had to work to swallow the lump in her throat. “I’m afraid that you’re offering more than an apology.”
He didn’t deny it. “And what if you deserve more than an apology?”
“I don’t.”
His hand moved from her wrist to her jawline. It was all she could do not to lean into his caress.
“I couldn’t disagree more, Annabeth. I’ll be in town through the holiday weekend if you change your mind.”
Annabeth gripped the countertop as he slipped past her. She didn’t dare move until she heard the chime of the doorbell indicating he’d left the shop.
• • •
“I’m not talking to anyone, Roscoe,” Will barked into his cell phone. “I’ve got nothing to say.”
Roscoe sighed on the other end of the line. “We both know that’s a lie, Will. And they have ways of compelling you to talk.”
“You’re my agent, damn it. Can’t you do something? I don’t want to be involved in this.”
“Yeah, I’m guessing no one wants to be involved in this. Look, let me make a few discreet inquiries on your behalf. We need to find out what they’ve got so we can plan a strategy before this all blows up.”
Will paced the wide verandah, the breeze from the ocean ruffling his hair. Roscoe was right, they needed information. “Okay, sure. But discreet is the operative word here. I really don’t want to get dragged into this.”
“Your name’s already being mentioned, Will. I think now we’re looking at damage control.”
He wanted to throw the phone through a wall. It was guilt by association, just as Brody had feared. After seven years in the pros with a sterling reputation, he was going to be tarnished by someone else’s mistake.
“How are things going down there?” Roscoe asked. “Are you and your baby mama getting along?”
Will flinched at Roscoe’s nickname for Julianne. His agent had been opposed to the marriage, believing it would leave his client more exposed to potential financial claims. Roscoe would blow a gasket if he knew Julianne no longer had an income coming in from her company.
He peered in the kitchen window. Julianne stood on a step stool, reaching into one of the cabinets for something. Her long shirt wrapped around her body, accentuating her fine backside. She was having a conversation with Owen, who was strapped into his swing, seemingly chattering back to her. The kitchen was, not surprisingly, a mess. Julianne was a one-woman wrecking crew who’d in two weeks destroyed his neat, orderly home. She stepped from the stool, her bare feet padding across the room, and began mashing bananas in a bowl. Will licked his lips as her pink tank top showed off her well-toned arms to perfection. Her hair was done up in a messy knot but one strand came loose, forcing her to blow on it to keep it out of her face. The action was so sensual, Will was hard in an instant. Knowing that he was married to the woman but couldn’t act on it made him angry.
“She’s a mess,” he growled into the phone. “And freaking moody. It’s like
living with a bipolar tropical storm.”
Roscoe laughed. “It isn’t any easier to live with a woman when you’re crazy in love with them, either. It’s only temporary. Hurricane Julianne will be out of your house in a couple of months. The separation papers take effect the week before training camp. I should have the custody details worked out by then, too.”
Will leaned up against one of the columns and watched as Julianne laughed at Owen, suddenly uncomfortable that this would be over so soon. This morning, in the gym, when she’d touched him, pretending they were a happy family, he’d wanted nothing more than for it to be real. But that meant trusting her and Will wasn’t ready to take that leap.
“I don’t think it’ll be a problem working out custody. Julianne’s been reasonable so far.”
“So far being the key words, Will. Don’t forget, her brother is on the committee investigating this whole Bountygate mess. I don’t trust her, and neither should you.”
“Hey, he promised to keep me out of it if I gave Owen my blood,” Will argued. “I did more. I married his little princess of a sister. If I get anything out of this mess, it should be immunity.”
“Never trust the word of a politician, Will. And don’t think you can hide behind the shield of being family.”
Roscoe’s words hung ominously in the air even after he’d hung up. Both Will’s agent and his brain told him he couldn’t trust Julianne. But his gut was telling him something else. She was a flighty artist who rode the crazy bus wherever life took her. Formulating a complicated plot to trap him into marriage was beyond her scope of planning. Roscoe’s theory of her being in cahoots with her senator brother seemed even more far-fetched—until he watched through the window and saw Brody stroll into the kitchen and kiss Julianne on the cheek before handing her an envelope. One that looked suspiciously like the one he’d opened in Brody’s room the other day. Will bolted for the door.
“Oh, Brody, this one is perfect!” Julianne reached up to hug Brody as Will charged through the door.
“What is going on here?” he shouted.
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